


Sunday Mass

by Always_Bottom_Derek, Benn_Xavier



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bad Boy Stiles, Bisexual Stiles Stilinski, Blow Jobs, Bottom Derek, Gay Derek, Immoral Conduct, Kind of Blasphemous But Hot Nonetheless, M/M, Neither Stiles or Derek is Repentant, Priest Derek, Seduction, flirtation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-21 06:46:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11938554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Always_Bottom_Derek/pseuds/Always_Bottom_Derek, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Benn_Xavier/pseuds/Benn_Xavier
Summary: Sheriff Stilinski is at the end of his rope dealing with his rebellious son Stiles, so he asks Beacon Hills' newest priest, Father Derek Hale, to counsel him.Derek agrees to try and get Stiles back on the right path.Once Stiles and the good father get together, however, the ways of sin suddenly seem very appealing.





	1. Good Shepherd, Black Sheep

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Missa de Domingo](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11244891) by [Benn_Xavier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Benn_Xavier/pseuds/Benn_Xavier). 



> So, I wish I could take credit for this delightful little bit of debauchery, but this story actually belongs to my boy, Benn_Xavier. It was published originally in Portuguese and he gave me permission to translate it so it could be enjoyed by a larger audience. 
> 
> Now, if you've read the original, Benn was also kind enough to give me free reign with his fic. He's such a damn sweet guy. In my edits I've messed around with things a bit, changed a few things, and fleshed some other stuff out more, so it's a slightly different creature than the first one.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy it.
> 
> -Always_Bottom_Derek

The inspiration for this fic came like a lightning strike upon reading a suggestion from a dear reader. I hope you like it. This was originally meant to be at most 1k words, but I simply could not contain my perverted imagination.

Manip by Always_Bottom_Derek

-Benn_Xavier

 

 

 

_“God, who by the resurrection of his only Son gave you the grace of redemption and adopted you as sons and daughters, grant you the joy of his blessing.”_

_Amen!_

_“He, who by his death has given you eternal freedom, grant you, by His grace, the eternal inheritance.”_

_Amen!_

_“And now, living righteously, ye may in heaven be united unto God, unto whom by faith ye have risen again in baptism.”_

_Amen!_

_“Bless you, Almighty God, Father and Son and Holy Spirit.”_

_Amen!_

_“Glorify the Lord with your life. Go in peace, and the Lord be with you.”_

_Praise the Lord._

_______________________________

Sunday Mass was over and Father Derek Hale saw to his faithful as they left the church.

From old to young, businessmen to laborers, gentle ladies to well-dressed housekeepers, the lone churchgoer and those with spouses and children, all offered smiles and friendly handshakes as they said goodbye to their newest representative of God before heading back to their homes.

Since being named the youngest priest in the small town of Beacon Hills, Father Hale had basked in the good graces of the entire population. Now, most would have said this was a result of his gracious and gentle manner as he conducted mass, or because of his warm words of comfort when someone approached him seeking relief for spiritual suffering.

Of course, his good looks didn’t hurt either; attracting attention and causing quite a buzz as soon as he arrived in the community. Not too mention creating a dramatic increase in church attendance.

The women of Beacon Hill’s St. Francis Catholic Church, married and single alike, looked at the handsome, green-eyed man with blatant desire. They loved his infectious, rabbit-toothed smile, not to mention all the glorious real estate south of it.

Yep, Father Hale was a living baptismal:leaving his most of his female congregants wet every time they bumped at him, whether this was in the church or at large out in the city. Of course, the ladies had to repent of these thoughts even while their panties were still damp. The married had their staid husbands and God ordained wifely duties to be faithful to, and for those unattached, there was also their new priest’s vows of celibacy and his deep religious commitment to consider.

But while the godly women of St. Francis reined themselves in, none of this prevented the congregation’s teenage girls ( _and some the boys)_ from eating  their young priest up with their eyes during the Church service, when their minds and hearts should have been set on higher things. This was exactly how Stiles Stilinski, the well known bad boy and the troublesome son of Beacon Hills’ Sheriff had passed the mass he’d been made to attend by his tediously upright and incorruptible father.

Now, Stiles was a smart one and this was a big was part of his problem. His intelligence left him easily bored. His keen perceptiveness also gave him the ability to see more about a person than most were comfortable with. The fact he didn’t couldn’t seem to keep these thoughts to himself, didn’t endear him to many either. Given this, watching Father Hale like a hawk through the service, it hadn’t taken Stiles long to discern their new priest’s true nature, or just where he likely, truly, stood on the whole celibacy thing.

No, Stiles knew it wasn’t going to take much effort at all to get under Father Hale’s cassock. Not once he noticed the warm, insinuating stares the priest kept darting at him during his sermon.

“Great sermon, Father Hale,” said the Sheriff as he shook the reverend's hand.

"The Lord thanks you and your family’s devotion to Him, Sheriff." Father Hale answered, his eyes flickering over to Stiles.

Standing at at his father's side, Stiles made an ugly face. Hearing all this pious talk he whispered to himself, “Oh yeah? Well, He’s got a fucking funny way of showing it.”

This did not slip past the Sheriff's attentive ears.

“Behave, Stiles! I raised you better. Respect the house of God, Son.” Seeing how this just hardened the stubborn set of his son’s jaw, John sighed.  “Since you won’t seem to obey me me anymore these days, do it for your Heavenly Father. Or if you’ve truly turned your back on Him too, than for no other reason than to honor your mother. God bless her.”

Stiles just rolled his eyes at this. He loved his too-soon-departed mother dearly, but was tired of hearing his dad use her memory to try and Control him.

Father Hale studied the boy before him closely. He had been well aware of Stiles, even before he showed up at mass. Stiles had been thoughtfully pointed out to him by some of his elderly lady parishioners (in warning). Since then, he’d watched the boy dozens of times when he was out in the town.

Yes, the teenager had caught his attention right away and he and had delighted in imagining doing all kinds of dirty acts with Beacon Hills’ “bad boy.” There was no limit to his fantasies; they spanned every kind of corrupt act that slim, defined body was capable of doing, here at its peak, high on 18 years of pure, building, boiling testosterone.

What made Stiles even more appealing was the priest knew that he was gay (or bi, as the teenager himself had once said where Father Hale had been able to overhear him: "why should I have to pick _girls_ or _guys_ if I can have sex with them _both_?")

In fact, Father Hale wasn’t alone in this knowledge, the whole city knew, it seemed. Half the town was outraged, especially since Stiles made no point of being behaved or discreet, picking up tricks not just in the damp alleys around the Jungle (the only gay nightclub in town), but in the open, almost anywhere in Beacon Hills.

The less conservative residents, meanwhile, just shrugged at the boy’s promiscuous behavior, more upset that he was attached to their upright Sheriff. The Sheriff himself was helpless when it came to his son’s sexuality. Although he’d never tried to control it, it had taken him some time to get used to Stiles “fluidity.” His son’s recklesssness was another matter completely, still, he loved his son above anything else.

Father Hale had come to love Stiles too, though in a different manner completely from the _agape_ love appropriate to his role in the church. No, his feelings for Stiles were pure _eros._

Already, the priest had committed every visible part of the teenager's body to his mind. He could have drawn from memory the pictures of skulls, thorny flowers, and crow's feathers that adorned Stiles’ intricately tattooed neck. (Ink bought with money from his mother's inheritance as soon as he turned 18.)  The skin of both his lightly-haired arms was also completely covered with colorful drawings of semi-nude mermaids, angels, highly sexy devil women, and other images that would have gotten the boy immediately kicked out of the Vatican.

With all this ink, Father Hale had often wondered if Stiles chest was also tattooed, but he’d never gotten the chance to see it.

Yet...

Yes, tatted like a gangster Stiles was not the example one would expect of a Sheriff's son but despite his rough appearance, the priest knew too, that the boy didn’t have a thug’s heart.

Stiles didn’t do anything too extreme, no robberies or murders (Thank God and the Sheriff). He was, however, frequently suspended from school for getting into trouble. Things like calling Professor Harris a “piece of shit” in the middle of Chemistry class, writing obscenities on the hood of coach Finstock's car, smoking behind the bleachers or in the bathroom.

And then there was Stiles most recent transgression.One that had almost gotten him permanently expelled: a janitor caught him fucking Lydia Martin in the school’s storehouse. Here, once again, the Sheriff had used his influence (which he hated to do) to avoid Stiles’ expulsion. It had taken some wrangling but in the end the principle had relented once the Sheriff promised to punish the teen himself by putting Stiles essentially on house arrest for six months.

This scandal had been kept on the down low, but Father Hale knew of it because the man who caught them had confessed a dozen times already since he couldn’t get the dirty image of his discovery out of his mind. One that, much to his dismay, often came to him in the midst of “relations” with his wife: the sight of Stiles slamming into lithe-bodied Lydia as she moaned uncontrollably, her head tipped forward, clutching his biceps each time he lifted and lowered her on his dick.

The janitor wasn’t the only haunted by Stiles fornicating now. The poor horny priest couldn’t help but fantasize about the scene every night as he sat on his thickest dildo in the darkness of his lonely rectory room. Moaning Stiles’ name, he dreamed that teen's dick was as good as the toy in his ass, or better; all the while thinking that Lydia Martin was a lucky little bitch.

It was this fateful fuck, in fact, that was reason Stiles was now standing no more than three feet away from the lustful priest. Coming to mass that Sunday, an environment contrary to Stiles’ nature, was part of the Sheriff’s sentence for him.

Father Hale’s green eyes flickered back and forth between the frustrated Sheriff and his rebellious son. "Don’t worry, John. I’m sure God has better things to do than be offended by a few coarse words. And myself, well,  I already know Stiles' temper." He flashed his winning smile at both men.

"I appreciate your kindness, Father, and no disrespect, but that doesn’t give him the right to do as he pleases. That's exactly why he's here.”

John’s eyes shifted to the other congregants milling around them, clearly anxious to get some time with their priest. He set a large hand on Father Hale’s sleeve, his face growing terribly earnest.

“I know you’re a busy man, but if you could spare some time… Please.  Would you speak to my son, Father? I know it’s not your duty, but would you try to talk some sense into him? Since I have clearly failed him.”

Father Hale sighed and replied gently. "Don’t blame yourself, Sheriff. You’re a good man and a good father. I’ve seen it.”

Even as he wished to ease the sheriff’s distress, the thought of having some time alone with the man’s son set him stirring beneath his robes.

“And of course, I’d be happy to counsel Stiles. I am a servant of the Lord. A shepherd sent here to attend the cries of His sheep. It's my duty.” He smiled once more and added, “even the black ones…”

“Wonderful. Thank you!” The sheriff turned to his son. “Stiles,  I want you to go wait over there.” He pointed to an empty pew. “Once everyone’s left, you go with Father Hale.

“Be respectful and listen to what he has to say. The Father knows a great deal about people from the work he’s done. Be open to him and he will help you.”

Stiles frowned at this but kept his snark to himself.  Instead, much to his father’s relief, he did as he was told for once and moved over to the pew, sitting down to wait. The Sheriff shook the priest’s hand and waved Stiles goodbye, heading off for his shift at the station.

Sprawled out in the pew, Stiles watched the rest of St. Francis’ sheep flock around their gorgeous “shepherd.”

Truth be told, Father Hale wasn’t the only one feeling stirred by the thought of a little “one on one” time.  Watching the man talk with his godly fans, Stiles couldn’t help but notice how Father Hale’s Adam's apple moved with every word. How the strong tendons in his neck were attached to the priest's bearded, manly jaw.

And if he’d had any doubts about what he wanted to do with the good father before, the way Hale’s tongue had flickered out to wet his bottom lip before shooting that last grin at the final trio of fawning widows… Well, that settled his newest corrupt intention right there.


	2. Touching the Divine

Once the church emptied Father Hale closed the Sanctuary’s double doors, then he turned his attention to the young man splayed out in the pew. Stiles’ posture was relaxed but assertive, lean arms stretched out over the back of the bench, thighs splayed wide.

Father Hale couldn’t help but glance at the promising bulge in the torn jeans Stiles wore. Eyes flickering up, the priest realized his look had been noticed. Stiles gave him a knowing smirk and rocked his thighs wider apart.  

Eyebrows arched he asked in his typical provocative tone, "So, Father Hale, what's up?"

There was a moment of hesitance as Father Hale considered that he might be picking up the innuendo falsely but then Stiles winked at him. One of the boy’s hands dropped down from the back of the pew, coming to rest on a lean thigh before sliding over closer to his crotch where he was clearly half-hard.

Father Hale looked deep into Stiles’ eyes and saw that they were both clearly on the same page with the possibilities of the moment. It was just so perfect, the lust he’d been holding back surged, overriding his caution.

“You can call me Derek, you know. No need to stand on formality now mass is over.”

Ignoring the surprised look on the teen’s face, he nodded to the head of the empty church.

"Come with me, Stiles; let's _talk_ in the sacristy.”

Stiles rose and stretched, allowing the clean, tight tee-shirt he wore beneath his leather jacket to rise enough to flash a strip of tight, ink-stained belly. Then he rose, cockily motioning for Father Hale to lead the way.

Derek headed off, Stiles following him, deeper into the sanctuary.

Ambling along behind  the man of God, the teen couldn’t help noticing the priest's muscular ass and how, even beneath his cassock, it seemed to sway with every step he took.  Clapping his hands together, the boy grinned. The sound echoed in the vast, empty sanctuary.

He could not wait to get his hands on that fine piece of sin (or, if it went the other way, have the priest’s large hands on him).

They climbed a few stairs, passed through several corridors, until they finally arrived in a small room hidden between two large plaster figures Stiles judged to be Saint Anthony and Saint Peter. Not that it mattered really who they were: he had his eye on another finely sculpted form at the moment.

After they entered the small room, Father Hale closed the door and walked to the table that stood on the opposite wall. Leaning his butt against it, arms crossed, he faced the tattooed teen. From there he could really appreciate the “bad boy” garb Stiles had assembled to meet God in.

Stiles wore a beat up, black leather jacket over a tight, crisp white tee, and equally tight jeans with several shreds along the legs in provocative places. Black converse “All Stars” completed the look. It was not conventional dress for going to a Sunday Mass, but the priest imagined the Sheriff had accepted it because he’d known it would be useless to argue and was more concerned with simply getting his wayward son to church.

“Sit down, Stiles.”

“I'm fine standing, _Derek_.”

Stiles crossed his arms too and widened his stance slightly. Father Hale shrugged at the unspoken challenge.

“Okay, stay like that if you want.”

Stiles tipped his head to the side, clearly not expecting Derek to have acquiesced so quickly. Then his eyes widened as some realization seemed to hit.  A sly grin crossed over his face. Readjusting to his new role he took his cue, removing his jacket and tossing it on a wooden chair in the corner of the room.

As Stiles shed his leather shell, Father Hale saw how the pale muscles stretched the white fabric of the teen’s t-shirt delightfully, molding it to his slender body. Nothing could have prevented  the pulse his member gave contemplating this sight.

While stripping off his jacket, Stiles removed a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from an inside pocket. He lit a cigarette, and brought it to his lips. Without breaking eye contact, he took two long drags before releasing the dense smoke in Derek’s general direction.

"You can’t smoke here, Stiles."

The teenager shrugged at this and made no move to stop. Instead, he moved forward exhaling a puff of smoke with his words. “Really? And who’s gonna stop me?” He gave another pull and this time released the smoke next to Derek’s face.

“Will you… _Derek_? Stop me, that is?”

Coughing lightly a few times before speaking, quiet but not cowed, Derek held Stiles’ whiskey-colored gaze until he was all but drunk on it. A subtle smirk curled the corner of his mouth.

"You're irredeemable, aren’t you?"

Stiles moved closer and leaned against him, the contact sparking immediate warmth between their bodies. The boy pressed further forward, shoving Derek’s ass back against the table.

"And you're a naughty bitch who can’t wait to fall on my dick.”  

Amber eyes flashed with youthful bravado as Stiles stared into an increasingly clouded jade gaze. “Or am I wrong, Father Hale?"

“I mean, _Derek_?”

Stiles leaned even closer and the proximity was so tempting. Derek was now just mere inches from his rosy lips. He could smell the musky, teenage scent clearly under the nicotine and it was intoxicating. Unable to resist any longer he surged forward, sealing his lips over Stiles’.

The ruffian readily accepted his voracious kiss.

Their mouths tangled and it was wild, with lots of shared tongue and saliva. Within moments their lips were tingling and red, a rash already blooming where Derek’s trimmed beard brushed against pale, mole-dotted skin.

After a few minutes of intense making out Stiles was the one who broke their contact. He stared deep into verdant eyes, mouth hanging slightly open as he panted for breath.

“So, since you're so good at solving personal problems, Derek…  I have a problem here for you.” He lewdly squeezed his boner over his pants. "A hard problem. A pretty big one too, if I say so, myself.” He dropped his cock and grabbed fistfuls of the priest’s robe.

“So, let’s go! Show me what that beautiful mouth of yours is skilled in, besides preaching and  praying ‘Our Fathers’.”

Stiles didn’t wait to get a response, his hands simply slid up to grip Derek’s cassock at its shoulders and slowly but firmly pushed down, forcing the priest to kneel.

So, eager to get at the cock he’d been fantasizing about, Derek didn’t make any attempt at protest, but eagerly dove in to free Stiles’ dick.

The teen set his stance and did nothing to help. While the man of God fumbled with his belt, he watched with a smug smirk on his face. This didn’t put Derek off though, in fact, it only seemed to make him all the more anxious to get his mouth on Stiles.

Quickly opening the boy’s jeans, revealing nothing between the denim and dick, he pulled Stiles’ massive cock out. The rod of flesh pulsing hot in his hand was gorgeous; far better than any image he’d held in his mind.  Not only long, it was thick too. It would be a challenge to swallow everything but Derek was more than ready to a “suffer” this divine ordeal.

"It seems it's the hour of extreme unction."

As he said this, Derek gazed at Stiles above him, although he kept shooting hungry glances at the prize he held. He gave Stiles a naughty smile that lit up his green gaze, just before he suddenly swallowed down as much cock at once as he could.

Cigarette dangling loosely at his lips, Stiles groaned with pleasure the moment the priest’s mouth found his flesh. His dick throbbed into Father Hale's hot, wet hole as the man swallowed his massive girth.

Derek sucked, hollowing his cheeks like a true ascetic. He moaned, relishing every drop of pre-come that dripped on his tongue, and dying for more: Stiles's taste was like Christ’s blood and he was more than addicted to this heavenly liquor.

With a free hand Stiles roughly stroked through black hair, undoing the formal hairstyle Derek fashioned for Mass. Then he wound his fingers into soft, smoky strands. Gripping tightly, he used this leverage to fuck the priest’s throat.

The man did not protest the sudden move, instead, Father Hale gagged and tried to keep up, his lips red and stretched around the width. Stiles fucked Derek’s face so furiously the priest could not swallow all the froth this stirred and saliva leaked from the corners of his mouth. Derek’s face was a mess and Stiles worshipped the glorious wreck of it.

"Aren’t you ashamed, Father?" Stiles spoke around his cigarette as he thrust into Derek’s mouth. Saying the priest’s first name was intimate, but Stiles loved the transgression of using his title too. It just made everything so nasty.

"Looking at me the way you were in the middle of Mass. Casting such lustful eyes at barely-legal me while I’m sitting next to my dad.”

Pulling out of Derek’s mouth,  Stiles whipped the priest’s face with his dick smearing saliva and precome across flushed, stubbled cheeks. “You're a holy bitch, Father Hale. Aren’t you?”

Derek said nothing but nodded, growling at the loss of the wondrous meat in his mouth, straining against the hand in his hair, his mouth opening and closing as he frantically tried to get Stiles’ whipping cock back into him.

Seeing the man of the cloth’s hunger, Stiles plunged back in. He groaned as Derek purred in contentment around his cock.

“Naughty, holy… whatever…” Stiles took his cigarette out of his mouth with the hand not fisted in Derek’s hair. He pumped his hips making the priest gag again. “You’re my bitch now!”

Keeping his cock in that receptive mouth as he thrust, he pulled Derek’s head back by his hair making him look up. With tears in his eyes from the intrusion and abuse of his throat, Father Hale stared up at the boy he was supposed to be “counseling.”

Stiles spit right in his face.

Derek’s long lashes fluttered closed, but not in shame.

It was bliss.

Hot and thick, the teen’s spit smelled of cigarettes and mint candy. Under his cassock his hard dick began to drip. His eyes blinked back open when Stiles snapped, “Look at me, Bitch!”

The boy pulled his cock from Derek’s mouth again. Derek coughed as the air rushed back into his taxed lungs. Drool ran down his bearded chin and dangled from it in ropey strands.

"You know, I'd love to cum in your throat. You'd love that, wouldn't you? Sin always tastes sweeter than virtue…

“But I've got plans for that hungry ass. Come on, _Lupa_ , it's time for holy communion!” Stiles pulled him up by hands tucked under his armpits. As soon as Derek was on his feet again, the boy lunged at him and sealed their mouths with a brutal kiss. He licked his own cock’s juices off the priest’s tongue and smeared his face with Fatherly spit.

His one hand still firm in dark bangs, Stiles ordered, “Take off your clothes, _Canicula_.”

 _Lupa_ \- “whore,” “she-wolf.”  _Canicula_ \- “little bitch." The Latin words falling from the mouth of this boy almost made Derek come right there.

"You, devil!" He exclaimed delighted by Stiles’ intelligence as much as his wickedness.

Grinning  he took off his shoes and pulled his cassock over his head. Once free of his priestly garb Derek quickly got rid of his pants and shirt too, leaving him in nothing more than a pair of black underwear and matching socks.

Stiles eyes grew huge seeing how ripped the priest’s torso was, his defined pec muscles, and toned abs were truly worship worthy. Crushing his cigarette out on the sacristy table, Stiles licked his lips, hands suddenly frantic to touch that heavenly flesh.

Running his hands over the hard expanse of Derek’s chest. Stiles snapped his tongue in appreciation, amazed at the handsome male specimen in front of him.

"How is a Father so fit? It should be forbidden.”

As sinful as his body was, even more so was the pride on the priest’s face. There was a cool arrogance in his voice, far from the congenial tone he used with his flock. "If you want to know, I'll tell you later.  Or do you really want to keep talking?

“Here, I thought you were Beacon Hills’ stud. If that was true your cock would be in me already.”

Derek stepped away from the table, dipped his thumbs behind the waistband of his briefs, and slid them back and forth wiggling his hard cock, drawing attention to the weight of his balls, the fabric stained dark by his leaking.

“Come on, Stiles… Fuck me!”

In a sudden movement Stiles charged. Large, bony hands grabbed behind Derek's thighs and lifted him. Startled by the unexpected strength of the lean teen, the priest wrapped muscular arms around Stiles' neck to avoiding falling.

Stiles moved with astounding grace, carrying the larger man to a small altar beside of one of the sacristy’s bookshelves. Though careful of the altar’s candles, Derek swept its other icons to the side as Stiles set his ass upon it. He wrapped his thick thighs around his slender waist pulling him closer. The boy glared at him but allowed himself to be drawn in.

"I guarantee I earned _that_ title, Bitch. And by the time I’m done with you, you’ll know what made my fame," Stiles’ growled, his voice dipping surprisingly deep just before he ducked down and bit Derek’s neck.

The pinch of white teeth was such, the priest knew it would surely be visibly marked the next day, but he couldn’t care one bit. The only thing he cared about right now was getting Stiles’ dick in his ass.

Despite his eagerness, Derek gasped in surprise when the teen stopped and abruptly tore at his briefs. Stiles shredded the cloth at the legs and the crotch; the waistband wouldn’t give however, leaving the priest in a ragged kilt of black.

Derek grabbed the edges of the altar while Stiles positioned himself between his legs. The teen took  the weight of his thighs, supporting them over his forearms, holding at the backs of his knees. Recognizing the position, the father’s  dick gave a fresh spurt of precome. It had been precisely described to him more than once by his convicted janitorial confessor: this was the almost the same position Stiles had fucked Lydia Martin in months ago when he’d been caught in the school’s storeroom.

This secret knowledge sent a wave of lust crashing down over Father Hale. It made his cock throb hard, sending rippling spasms across his abdomen. His asshole began to twitch, clenching and unclenching anticipating being filled at last. But Stiles wasn’t going to answer his prayers too quickly.

“What you want? Tell me, Father Hale,” he teased, relishing the naked need on the priest’s face.

Derek drew a deep breath. It was his turn for confession.  The heat of lust and shame turned his low belly molten.

"I want you to fuck me. Hard!

“Fuck me like you did Lydia. The day you were caught at school!”

Derek ignored the comic expression of shock that broke through Stiles’ bad boy mask and demanded, “No... Fuck me better than that!” Proud of his own ability to dirty talk he growled, “I want to be destroyed by your dick, Stiles.”

The words had an instant effect, filling Stiles eyes with fire. He spit on his fingers and pressed them to Derek’s hole, pushing in as the priest pushed back. The father opened his slutty asshole like a pro to receive him and in moments, Stiles had breached him, two fingers and three knuckles deep.

“No more preparation!” Derek hissed. “I want your cock!”  

The tone made Stiles’ eyes flash with annoyance and he pulled out roughly, as Derek’s ass clenched around his finger. Even in his ire, however,  when he pressed his cock against the priest’s eager ass, ready to enter with nothing except for saliva  from the blowjob minutes ago, he hesitated.

Derek caught the look and fumbled through the displaced altar items. Wordlessly he offered Stiles a small vial. The teen took it and a look of wicked wonder crossed over his face. “Anointing oil? Really?”

The only answer Derek gave in answer was to hold his thighs up, keeping his position while Stiles uncapped it and poured some on his taint, where it ran down and into his winking pucker. Meanwhile the teen quickly slicked his cock and tossed the bottle to the side.  

Taking up Derek’s thighs again, Stiles shot him a fierce grin as he slid in. Feeling the heavenly heat around him, Stiles crowed,“Jesus Christ, I'm going to destroy your ass!”

His exclamation was cut short when the priest slapped his blaspheming mouth.

“No swearing in church, this is still the Lord’s house!”

The look of shock on Stiles’ face quickly morphed into mirth.  Rather than a snarky comment he just laughed, but even as he chuckled he took up an immediate and vicious pace. Derek’s shoulders hit the wall behind them.

The room filled with the sounds of Stiles’ rapid rhythm as they continued to collide with the wall, driven by the back and forth of the boy’s hips. Despite the brutal start, Derek’s ass, well-trained by his dildo sessions, quickly adjusted. So, soon Stiles sped up again, rabbit fucking the priest like a jackhammer.

Derek had heard the rumors that Stiles problematic hyperactivity had given him unbelievable sexual energy as well. And now he was getting to see the truth of this firsthand. The thrusts were so intense that the flames of the altar’s still-burning candles trembled and swayed in synchrony. He watched with awe-filled eyes as drops of sweat trickled down Stiles's tattooed neck into his white shirt, turning the fabric pale-gray with damp.

Even with its growing wetness, the tee-shirt refused to become translucent enough to reveal the skin behind it. Derek’s fingers itched to tear the shirt to shreds to check if the boy's chest was indeed as tattooed as it hinted, but he had no balance and was holding on to the altar’s edge for dear life under the onslaught of Stiles’ cock.

Given this, Derek stayed as he was, taking his pounding like a good slut should, but even as his insides burned with sinful pleasure he longed to lick the hot flushed skin of Stiles’ inked neck; to taste the musk of Stiles' sweaty skin.

Totally at the teen’s mercy, pinned down on the small altar of the sacristy, he was unable to even touch his own leaking cock. But rather than fight against this, this surrender felt dangerously freeing. And then there was the heaven of finally capturing Stiles’ cock inside him, the dick he’d dreamed of for so long.

Derek wanted more.

He wanted everything Stiles would give him.

Head dipped back, he lost himself in the building tension of his body, the shudders that rocked him whenever Stiles’ cock rubbed against that sacred place inside him.  

But it wasn’t enough.

Derek loosened one hand, knowing he risked falling.

“SMACK!”

The second slap he gave Stiles's face, made the teen’s half-lidded eyes pop open. The boy glowered at him and the fire in Stiles gaze made it so worth the possibility of tumbling off the altar.

"Is this all you’ve got?” Derek challenged, watching the burning flames in Stiles’ eyes burn even brighter at his words.

“And here I was, thinking I would be fucked by a real man.” He dipped his bushy brows at Stiles and tsked false disappointed in between breathy pants. “Let’s go! Show me you’re not just a kid who still smells like his mother’s milk!”

If Stiles wasn’t stirred enough, the mention of his beloved mother made him furious."You asked for it, Priest!” He set an even more frantic and brutal rhythm, pelvis slamming into Father Hale's butt. Balls jiggling, his hard cock bouncing against his stomach as he was pummeled, the priest’s cruel taunts quickly gave way to the most wanton moans, mixed with the sound of skin slapping hard against skin.

In his fucking, Stiles' jeans slipped down his sweaty thighs and gathered about his ankles. Shackled by his own pants, this arrested his mobility and made it difficult to position himself better. He didn’t dare to stop or break his pace, however.

Fortunately he soon found he didn’t have to. He knew he’d found the right angle when Father Hale whimpered. An angel’s song couldn’t have sounded sweeter.

Sweat trickling down his sculpted torso, Derek released the altar’s edge to grab the back of Stiles’ neck and squeeze.

“Fuck…” He exhaled the word like a prayer, eyes staring hard into Stiles’ eyes.

“Fuck!” Derek’s head tipped back again, eyes closing, a grimace on his face, his ass pulling away slightly as the friction overwhelmed him.

There was no escape now, though. Stiles grabbed his legs tighter and jerked him forward, slamming fleshy butt cheeks hard against his pelvis.

"Isn’t this what you wanted, _Derek_?” Stiles taunted without slowing down, keeping his pace incredibly fast and steady. “You begged for this, Father Hale. Now you better fucking take it!

“You wanted to know the real power of ‘bad boy’ Stilinski? Well, now you got it. Come on, you holy bitch. Take it!”

The was no articulate response to this; Derek just gasped like someone recently rescued from near-drowning. While his asshole was completely ravished, the rosaries resting on the altar rolled off and pinged against the stone floor. Candles fell too, their flames quickly extinguished as the wicks were doused in melted wax or burned out, such was the strength with which Stiles fucked.

When he finally found his words all Derek could do was beg.

"That's right, Stiles keep going. Ahhhhhhhh."

Stiles was awed by the lewd sounds the man of God was making. "Jes… Fuck…”

“You’re the most dirty Priest to ever set foot in Beacon Hills.” The teen’s voice was filled with raw amazement and... Pride. “And your ass is mine, Father Hale. MINE!”

Stiles punctuated the last word with two sharp thrusts that caught Derek’s aching prostate. The priest roared with pleasure.

“Yes… Oh, sweet sin… Stiles, fuck me! Fuck me good! Drill me with that cock.”

"You're not going to be able to sit right for days after I destroy your ass, Father Hale."

“SMACK!” “SMACK!” “SMACK!” The collision of their skins resonated in the room as Stiles thrust between his dirty words.

“You’re gonna be doing confessions, listening to the misdeeds of others with my cum dripping out of your greedy hole.”

“Oh, God!” Derek called out in pleasured petition. "I'm almost there, Stiles! give me more!"

“ _Sicut tu vis, Pater_ \- as you wish, Father…” Stiles shifted just slightly, lifting Derek’s ass in seeming infatigable arms so he could drive even deeper. “ _Canicula veneris sancti_ \- Come, holy bitch.”

At these words, Father Hale climaxed untouched, semen spurting over his sweaty torso.

The sight made Stiles grin and growl with pleasure. He’d slowed his pace when Derek started coming, but once the priest’s cock was spent, he resumed thrusting. Not quite there yet himself, he kept pounding, taking advantage of Father Hale's hungry cunt.

"Come in me, Stiles. Fill your little bitch’s ass with semen until I can taste it. Fill my fucking hole!” Derek begged.

Grunting and squirming, tears streaming down his rough face, he milked the cock sheathed in him with the still quivering silk of his ass until Stiles came ropes of sperm, painting his inner walls white.

As soon as his dick stopped spurting, Stiles released his thighs and collapsed against him.

Derek lay beneath the teen, trembling legs dangling, tiptoes barely brushing the floor. Once Stiles caught his breath, however, he pushed up off him. Starting to rise himself, Derek stopped when Stiles glowered and smacked his thigh.

Despite all they’d just done, nothing made the priest blush harder than feeling Beacon Hills’ bad boy pick him up.  Still, Derek forced himself to be passive, allowing Stiles to carry him over to the sacristy’s larger table, where he was carefully laid.  The hardwood was chilly against his heated skin, but Derek dropped back against it, his body exhausted from the pounding it had just taken.

Already, he felt Stiles’ semen leaking out of his ass. He suddenly wished he had one of his plugs here so he could stopped up Stiles’ seeed and carry it inside him as long as possible. A soft sigh escaped him.

Maybe another time. If there was one…

Hearing shuffling beside him, Derek raised his head just in time to see Stiles zip his pants up and grab his jacket from the chair. The boy walked to the door and for a moment the priest’s stomach clenched-- Not at the thought of what they’d just done, but that Stiles would leave him here, now, without saying anything.

He was debating whether or not to call out, when the boy hesitated in the doorway and glanced back over his shoulder.

“You know, Derek… You have quite the way with troubled youth. Of this, there’s no doubt.” Stiles shot him a sly wink.

“Until the next Mass, Father Hale. I’ll be sitting in the front pew, watching. Waiting for our next ‘counseling’ session. ” With this, Stiles stepped out, shutting the sacristy door firmly behind him.

As soon as the boy left, the energy in room suddenly felt still and the sacristy oddly silent.  Father Hale dropped his sweat-soaked head back against the table with a “thunk!” Knees bent, feet flat on the cool wood, he reached the same fingers he’d given benediction with at Mass down to trace the sore swollen rim of his ass.

Bringing them back up, he touched his fingers to his lips and tasted Stiles on his tongue. Despite the strong bitter flavor, the boy was right about one thing: Sin did taste sweeter than virtue. The young priest closed his eyes as he pulled his fingers away with a sigh.

A smile broke over his lips then and a moment later, Derek was laughing. His laughter was rich and full, echoing in the empty church.  It was the joy of the blessed, of one who had just had a divine experience.

Yes, the divine experience of Stiles’ dick, the bad boy of Beacon Hills.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My boy Benn writes the most divine smut and should you ever question this, this was the proof of it.
> 
> Keeping with this religious bent, I'm blessed that Benn's letting me translate his Portuguese fics and embellish them for your enjoyment. If this little bit of heavenly filth ministers to your needy flesh, you should let him know. I'm sure he would appreciate hearing from you.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Icy Cyros as usual for his editorial eye.
> 
> The second and final chapter will be up by the end of the week.
> 
> Thanks for reading.
> 
> -Benn Xavier


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